


young, wild and bloodied

by millimallow



Series: the world of owa [19]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen, Puppy Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millimallow/pseuds/millimallow
Summary: we run wild when the summer comes, bathing in the midnight sun.summer comes even to the icy mascya.





	young, wild and bloodied

mascya is undoubtedly the best place to watch the midnight sun. when summer comes to the north and the ice retreats, even if only for a while, the tundra blooms. flowers begin to unfurl, wildlife flocks to the shrubbery and the darkness is so absent that it stretches only over the length of a dream. it’s not my home, though. unlike most others amongst the population, my family makes its home in the sparse inner region of the broken eye bayland. reluctant to survive off fish populations that grow and shrink across the years, unpredictable, we once took our horses and our children into the fields. built our homes near where the corilid range provides its geothermal heat, giving life and protection within the earth. visiting the capital of coril wa as much as our own capital- migrating to mascya in the summer months.

unlike the welgelden, gnomish inhabitants of mascya adapted to the cold, we need external heat. and i’ve already mentioned how we access it- i don’t need to say it again. but in the summer, it’s just warm enough that bringing the cattle and herds to fresh grass becomes a matter of practicality. planting and lambing comes in spring, migration and hunting in the summer, harvesting in autumn, nesting in winter. we’re guests of the welgelden, though. even if their lifestyle is completely alien to us, with their cities mostly walled, it’s important for us to show respect. so when they’re passing through in their imposing wagons, i know what my father taught me-

“ _leave them be, so the favour will be returned to us_.”

the temptation, however, remains. from the day i first saw an ornate wagon passing near our camp, nestled in my mother’s lap and against her swollen belly, a shiver of curiousity ran through my body. later that summer, i snuck out of the tent as she laboured to bring my younger brother into the world. my footsteps muffled by her voice and my movements for once unable to divert focus, impulse took ahold of me. i was being ignored at the time- my youthful brain demanded attention, either from the welgelden or through acting out. camped at the time on the top of a hill (rare and valuable in the tundra, gifted as our family holding due to our situation) i could see a troop of welgelden girls below, hair like night and skin bird’s-egg blue. running down, i fell like a comet into their circle of dance, causing them to surround me. only later would i find the cuts and rashes on my hand, caused by grasping at nettles as i came down.

they spoke to me in common.

“are you okay?” one said. “you just took a great fall from there.” at my pre-pubescent height or shorter, i assumed they were my age. though tall for gnomes, close to dwarven height, the welgelden are still shorter than elves.

“yeah!” my obvious lack of concern alarmed them at the time. “i came down here to see what you are doing!”

another spoke. “shouldn’t you be with your family on the hill?”

“my mother is having a baby,” i exclaimed, prompting the girls to look between each other, “and i can’t sleep when it’s so noisy.”

“is she in trouble?” she wasn’t, but i couldn’t conceptualize the question well, so i simply nodded.

“i want to play with you guys!”

more looking between each other. “how old are you, dirmvalar?” only later would i find out that this was their proper noun for elves.

“’’s not my name. and i’m eight, but i’ll be nine soon! like you guys, right?”

“i’m sixteen.”

“sixteen as well.”

“seventeen.”

my heart sank. though my height, none were my age.

“we can’t play. you should go home. we can walk you up the hill if you need.” feeling like a fool, i was on the brink of tears, worrying that my potential lecturing on the dangers of running away was to be for nothing.

“don’t wanna.” i groaned, noticing the displeasure in their eyes. “please?” a round of shaking heads.

then she stepped into frame.

considerably shorter than her sisters, i was later to find that mekla’s smaller frame placed her around my age range. i hadn’t seen her, as she had been hiding behind the hill, cast out to pick flowers and leaves for a collection so that her sisters could dance.

“you guys are the worst! i don’t wanna pick flowers. i want to dance.” she shared the same accent as the others, but in another child’s voice it caught my interest more. the eyes of the girls changed, a passive communication between them.

“hey, mekla. we found this dirmvalar who fell down from the hill. you can go play with her, because we’re busy right now.” i dusted the dirt and grass seeds from my woollen skirt so i could stand and run towards her, shaking her hand.

“hi. i’m leiso.” her hesitation to speak betrayed her initial nervousness, but she eventually held out her hand to meet mine.

“mekla.” our common was intermediate, so communication was an initial difficulty. but back behind the hill, listening to the music her sisters made, i let her braid my long chestnut hair with bands and flowers, intricate and fascinating with her fingers cold to the touch. looking out over the horizon across the tundra, the eve before the solstice, we talked about our lives. our people and our families. then we chased each other in the field, running til we both collapsed on the ground. watching squirrels and birds with the intricate binoculars she had packed, only disturbed when her sisters realized that us being away any longer might arouse suspicion. we left with a promise made on our fingers- that we would see each other another time.

climbing up the hill again was more of a struggle than running down it, but in the fever of birth both my escape and return had gone unnoticed. i was able to curl up in bed undisciplined, so that all night i dreamt of the mysterious frost-beholden cities of the welgelden.


End file.
